


Smut Box

by Red



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Erik Being Cocky, Erik is a Father, Fertility Issues, Fisting, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink, Nude Photos, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some assorted and mostly-porny fills from the "Smut Sentence Starters" prompt on tumblr (link <a href="http://panzercat.tumblr.com/post/114050848744/smut-sentence-starters">here</a>). Thanks to all who prompted! </p><p>6. "Punish me!" (comics or post-DOFP, Erik no)<br/>5. "We should try adding a third person." (a/o verse; o/o action)<br/>4. "I didn't know you were so kinky" (post-DOFP, Erik no)<br/>3. "You look good tied up." (a/o verse, knotting, puns)<br/>2. [text] i didn't mean to send those pictures! (modern AU, dadneto, charles is a flirt)<br/>1. "I'm gonna cum!" (AU, cw: [in]fertility, maybe-pre-mpreg?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I'm gonna cum!"

“Oh god,” Charles says, again. “Oh, fuck.” 

The sensation of Erik’s mouth is distant at best. It’s a vague sense of pressure and heat, but the visual’s doing more than enough—his (finally) hard cock stretching Erik’s lips, the sheen of spit, the way Erik’s looking up at him, watching Charles’s every reaction as he takes him in deep and sudden enough to gag—and just like that, it’s doing _too_ much. 

Charles tugs at Erik’s hair, not gently, but all it does is make Erik moan around him and _fuck_. 

“I’m going to come,” he warns. While that’s sometimes a bit of a surprise to him, there’s certainly no mistaking it _now_ , and Erik pulls off of him with a curse. 

“You had better not,” he says, gripping the base of Charles’s cock in a way that looks like it ought to be incredibly uncomfortable but comes across as incredibly erotic. Charles moans, trying to suppress a reflex he had woeful little control over _before_ he got a vertebra shattered, as Erik scrambles to get straddled over him.

“Fuck, Erik, I—” 

“Hold on, you wouldn’t dare,” Erik grumbles, and Charles grabs at his hips, clumsily trying to help get Erik in position. He doubts it’s much more than a nuisance, though. Erik’s swatting at his hands and getting lined up and muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _I’ll kill you if you come **now**_ , and that ought to dampen the mood but the second Erik’s on him it’s over. 

“Shit!” Erik’s still got a hand between them, and even though the prep was virtually nonexistent and Charles is already coming, he uses it to shove Charles in. 

He slams himself down in one aggressive thrust, taking Charles fully without hesitation. It’s obviously not comfortable, Erik hissing out a pained curse. Charles grips him tight, pressing his face against Erik’s shoulder as his cock manages a few pitiful last twitches. 

Erik is tense, utterly still in his arms as Charles tries catch his breath. Pressed this tight, he can tell Erik’s not even half-hard. Honestly, he’d only be surprised otherwise. Lately, Erik’s spent more time with his tracking app and a thermometer than he has with his husband, his nerves too frayed to treat sex as more than a chore. 

All Charles can do for a long while is pant for air, stroking over Erik’s back. Slowly, he softens again, and Erik readjusts his hips with a soft noise of discomfort. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Did—” 

“A little,” Erik says, sighing. He’s thinking _probably just the human ones_ , and Charles swats his arse. 

“That’s not how it works. Your eggs are just as responsible,” if not more so, based on current research. 

And anyway, it’s not like Erik wouldn’t be overjoyed, all the same. 

“Maybe so,” Erik agrees, before looking at his watch—the only thing he’s wearing, and which he refuses to take off. “Let’s go again in thirty,” and Charles sighs, because according to Erik’s calculations, he’s got hours yet to get those eggs fertilized. 

If he’s lucky, he might even survive the attempt.


	2. [text] i didn't mean to send those pictures!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, still-have-powers on this one.

_I didn't mean to send those pictures!_

Erik’s in the middle of the cereal aisle when he gets the text. He frowns at his cell. What pictures? Who is this, even? The number’s not a familiar one, different area code and all, and he considers texting back _Wrong number, find someone else to apologize to_. 

But, if it is a wrong number, why even bother? He dismisses the message, sticks his phone back in his pocket, and keeps shopping. 

It isn’t until he’s paid and walked out of the store that his phone buzzes again and again, and Erik remembers three things: 

One, the reception in this bunker of a grocery store is abysmal. Two, his personal magnetic field tends toward keeping text messages a strictly non-linear means of communication. And three—

Three, didn’t he just get cajoled into putting his number in that new bio professor’s phone? Didn’t that guy just transfer from some college back east? 

The new professor hadn’t been unattractive, that’s for certain. Maybe a bit stereotypical-professor with the corduroy jacket, maybe a little pretentious with the designer glasses. Just a touch misled, perhaps, on the role of baseline human faculty in a mutant community college—and yes a _lot_ headstrong and all too sure of his welcome in Erik’s office but not _unattractive_.

So it’s with a fair amount of trepidation that Erik reaches back into his pocket and takes out his phone. 

Sure enough, there’s pictures. And sure enough, they’re of the new professor. And they’re just this side of indecent, obviously meant to be erotic, but not showing anything you couldn’t on primetime television. 

One of them, it’s not even clear he’s fully nude. It’s taken in front of a mirror showing from the waist up, and all he’s wearing is a grin, overpriced glasses, and an excess of freckles. 

Erik swallows, because what wasn’t clear in corduroy jacket is abundantly so _now_. New professor is wasted on academics, and from the looks of his arms he’s spending most his long weekend at the gym or on a racing chair. 

When he’s not taking nude photos, that is. The second picture is full-frontal, but the way his legs are situated… Well, it shows just enough that Erik now knows it’s the beard that matches, but you can’t see much beyond that. 

For far longer than is wise, he just stands there in the parking lot, staring at his phone and letting the ice cream melt. He flicks back and forth between the pictures thinking, _I should delete these, this is a breach of privacy, I can’t even remember his name_ , and the sudden buzzing of another incoming text makes him jump.

 _I’m truly sorry, Erik, I can not believe I did this_ , it reads, and before Erik even thinks out his reply it’s typed and sent. 

_No need to apologize. Whoever it’s meant for better appreciate it._

He resolutely locks his phone and refuses to look at it again until he’s got the groceries in the car, until he’s on the road, until he’s home and the fridge is stocked and Anya is appeased with her (just slightly melted) Ben & Jerry’s, no matter how many times it buzzes. 

And when he looks, for once, it’s all seemingly in order: 

_It sounds like he did. ;)_

_Err, was that too forward?_

_Erik?_

_Not forward enough, perhaps? I meant you, if that wasn’t quite clear._

_This is much more difficult than one is led to believe_

_How this works as a medium of flirtation, I’ll never understand_

_Not that I’m flirting, I’m just testing the waters, I thought you seemed a little keen on Thursday and you gave me your number, so. Well._

_Perhaps you’re occupied? I suppose one just has to wait_

_Sorry I keep sending these messages, do you have unlimited messages? If you don’t, please let me cover the overage fees_

And that’s the last of them. Erik grins. 

This time, he’s sure of his reply. 

_Just forward enough. I have a kid_ , (he types, figuring he may as well show his hand on that one now) _of course I have unlimited messages_. 

_Please, take advantage of them. ;)_


	3. "You look good tied up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for knotting, a/o verse, and abysmal puns on this one. Oh, and the answer is "entanglement." :)

“Mmm,” Charles hums, nuzzling Erik’s back. “Mmmm.” 

Erik doesn’t respond, concentrating. Charles always recovers on his own (inefficient) schedule. 

But then—

“Hmm, Erik… Did I ever tell you? You look good, tied up.” 

_Ugh_ , Erik thinks, not privately. “Yes. You have.” Many times, and Erik suspects Charles finds it exponentially funnier to hear himself say it again and again, but there’s no use complaining. Erik just opens the paper back up and refolds it, continuing to read while he’s still able, hoping that’s the last of it. 

“Y’know,” Charles continues, because what is life but endless suffering, “I’m just sorry you’re knot here more often. You’ve built so many ties here.” 

“ _Charles_.” Erik pointedly does not turn, or otherwise dignify Charles with any further response. 

The last thing he needs is encouragement. 

“I don’t need ‘encouragement’? What—are puns knot allowed?” 

“Will you stop?” Erik asks, knowing the answer already and kicking himself for asking. 

This is so, so very far from the first time he’s been stuck with Charles when he’s in a mood to believe he’s amusing. There’s only ever one solution for it at a time like this. Already Erik’s rustling through the paper, desperately looking for the crossword before Charles opens his mouth again—even if it’s just a Tuesday paper and it’ll be so beneath Charles’s level that Erik is sure this is all an excuse to use his back as a glorified desk—and casting out with his powers for a pen. 

“I’m _a frayed_ —” 

“Here,” he says, twisting to urge the page at Charles before he can finish. 

The motion makes him suck in a pained breath. Charles can’t feel it directly, but he winces in sympathy, helps Erik ease back into a better position with one strong hand on his hip. 

“Careful, darling,” he says. Mercifully, he doesn’t end on a pun.

Only as he’d already used the “tied up” one. Erik pushes his ass against Charles’s pelvis, making sure they’re flush against each other. Inside him, Charles is huge, still engorged as full as he gets—which is a panic-inducing, almost impossible swell, and Erik still doesn’t know how he puts up with this twice a year. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, going back to studying the newspaper. Charles crinkles the page he’s got back and forth and back and forth a needlessly long time, getting it folded in the most maddening way possible before he plops it on Erik’s back. 

Erik gnaws at his inner cheek and doesn’t say a word. What’s he going to do? _Leave_? No chance of that, least not for a good while. If there’s one thing they’d learned his first heat after Cuba, it’s this: long as it might take Charles to get hard, it’s going to take three times as long for his knot to go down. During some of their more adversarial seasons together, Erik’s done anything he could to speed the process—clenching on him, relaxing, just trying to pull off because anything’s better than hearing a lecture while you’re glued to an insufferable human apologist—but there’s no rushing it. With diminished sensation, the reflex just isn’t as strong. 

And anyway, Erik’s still in his first night. He’s just going to wind up in the same position in a few hours, anyway. If he’s going to be stuck here, he’s at least going to catch up on the news. 

He lets out a breath, and tries to enjoy the weight of Charles on him, now that Charles isn’t _talking_. 

“Twelve letters for snag?” 

Erik snorts, and turns the page again, smiling when Charles chews lightly at the pen. Heat makes everyone a bit addle-minded—the tie’s the only time you can get anything sensible done—and while alphas are _particularly_ afflicted, there is no way Charles wouldn’t get a clue like that. 

“A complicated or compromising relationship,” Erik prompts, and Charles laughs. He pens in the answer to some other clue and (finally, _finally_ ) focuses on the crossword, letting Erik read while they wait, together.


	4. I didn't know you were so kinky.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-DOFP timeline. Don't even ask with the IV bags, it's a sad plot device.

“Why, Charles. I didn’t know you were so kinky.” 

Still mid-experiment, Charles stops, staring. 

Erik’s slouched against the lab’s doorframe, arms crossed and ascot “artfully” tossled, with one of the most self-amused grins Charles has ever seen. 

He looks again at his hands, perplexed. 

Nothing kinky there. Since the school’s been struggling to reopen and he’s been trying to clean up, Charles has been occasionally regaled to the role of lab assistant. 

Today is no exception. All he’s doing is injecting serum into IV bags, he’s not _flogging_ anyone, and he glares back at Erik.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he says, going back to his work. “If you’ve nothing productive to say, you can leave already.” 

It’s ridiculous enough, that Erik’s still lurking about the mansion at all. He showed up again a week ago, and the uncomfortable truce has been mostly quiet. 

Up til now. 

He draws up the solution with the ease of long (if not ill-gained) practice, and injects the port of another bag, and even if he were still dosing himself there’d still be no missing it. 

Erik straightens from his slouch, and—slightly, so slightly—leans in the room. 

Charles stares at him again, thinking, _is he serious?_ and Erik’s just staring at him avidly. 

“Are you serious,” he says, dead-pan, and his mind clicks on a memory from years back—listening in a bit on Erik and the kids, another moment with a syringe, the spike of Erik’s humor masking… 

“You’re serious.” It’s all he _can_ say. 

They slept together maybe a dozen times, back on the road, and somehow the topic of hypodermics simply never came up. 

Erik shrugs, but doesn’t look away from the syringe. “You’re the one who—” 

“I’m the one doing bloody grunt work for Hank as I owe him,” Charles interrupts, and he continues to concentrate on his work. 

But Erik doesn’t leave. It’s impossible, Charles finds, to ignore him—to ignore the constant thrum of his focus on the syringe. 

“You know it’s only kinky for you, right?” he asks, mostly to himself as Erik’s way too caught up on the whole bevel-through-port phenomenon at the moment. 

This is, Charles thinks, unquestionably the most absurd way for the two of them to restart whatever it was they had back in the sixties. 

Assuming he _wants_ to rekindle anything with Erik at all, that is. 

As he lingers with the withdrawal of the needle, he finds himself talking over Erik’s soft indrawn breath.

“But maybe if you give me a moment to finish up,” he says, “I can get a fresh one of these, and see if I can appreciate your perspective.”


	5. "We should try adding a third person!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omegaverse and mating cycle/heat tags pertain to this one.

Coated in sweat—along with the other expected fluids—Charles winces in pain. 

“You’re stopping,” Erik grinds out, his fingers tightening on Charles’s wrist. “Why are you stopping.” 

“I’ve got another cramp, that’s why I’m stopping,” he says, shaking off Erik’s grip. He lets go of the dildo and leaves it where it is, slick-coated and parting Erik, and starts massaging his own hand. “This isn’t working.”

Erik huffs and flops against the pillows again, reaching down to try and take care of himself while Charles stretches out the spasmed muscles of his palm. The view ought to be a welcome one, and maybe forty hours back it _would have_ , but right now Charles is sore. 

He’s sore everywhere: his shoulders, his back, his neck, his jaw, and worst of all his right hand, which has spent a full day gripping a dildo, and for what?

Panting loudly, Erik keeps on going, trying to fuck himself to completion. _Trying_ , of course, being the operative word. 

Still stretching out the cramp, Charles watches him fight for it, fumbling and struggling with the dildo. 

They’ve spent many heats together, and early on it wasn’t much an issue. Often Charles would wind up in heat around the same time, synchronizing as omegas in close quarters sometimes do, and at least then they were _both_ crazed enough that it didn’t ever seem to matter how long it took. But, over time—and with the injury—Charles has stopped going into heats so often, and he’s certainly not getting any more limber. What seemed like a great time at twenty-five is a bloody chore at forty-two.

And beyond that… Well, Erik’s not getting any younger, either. His body knows it, and his biological clock is starting to ignore them whenever they try to hit the snooze alarm. 

“We should try adding a third,” he says, mostly talking to himself. They’d had the kids discussion ages ago, and decided against—but it’d be almost impossible to find an alpha their age who _hadn’t_ had a vasectomy. 

Erik grunts again, frustrated, and sits up to glare at him. 

“I’ve told you, shoving more in doesn’t do it for—”

“Not a dildo,” Charles interrupts, shifting press the heel of his left hand against the plug in Erik’s arse, giving him a little pressure there while he tries to work the glands high in his cunt. “An alpha.” 

It’s a testament to how desperate Erik’s heat is, that he doesn’t stop fucking himself. His mind goes sharp, vibrant with an annoyed refusal. 

“I don’t want a fucking alpha,” he curses, “I want you. Charles, please—” 

And he breaks off with a sweet, breathless whimper as Charles yanks the dildo out and gives him four fingers. 

“I know,” he whispers, hopeful he’ll make it through this heat without a broken hand. “Oh, my darling, I know,” and he works his fist in deep. 

After all, there’s been more research into synthetic alpha pheromones lately. Maybe next heat, he can buy a few bottles… 

And a wrist brace, he thinks, as Erik shouts and clenches against him, fierce and determined as they try to get through this season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on omegaverse biology tropes: I like to mix them up when I write a/o, so interpret as you please!


	6. "Punish me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-DOFP/movie-verse

“What?” 

Flipping his cape over one arm in a move that he no doubt considers imposing and suave, Erik strikes a comical figure in the tasteful confines of Charles’s office. 

“I said,” Erik pauses, also undoubtably for dramatic effect, “You’ll have to punish me.” 

Charles glances up from the spreadsheet he’s working on. 

“I thought that’s what I heard.” He goes back to his calculations. Six busted windows on the mansion, bent wing on the Blackbird, fuel surcharge, minus the bulk discount with Raytheon—

The calculator jerks out from under his fingers, and he gives Erik his most withering glare. 

The helmet is quite noticeably absent, which at least improves Erik’s look from “completely ridiculous” to “god awful,” but that doesn’t mean Charles is going to cave.

“No,” he says, simply, and goes back to work. 

If he took over Erik’s powers every time he acted a fool, well, there’d be no end to it, would there. 

“No,” Erik echoes, sounding rather put-out. 

“No,” Charles agrees, and steadfastly ignores Erik’s looming presence.

After a long moment, Erik finally huffs and goes to swan off through one of the broken windows. Charles catches the calculator, one-handed, when it drops. 

«And next time, do remember,» he sends, when Erik’s almost beyond his reach, «If you want a spanking, you’ll do well to leave the supervillaining out of it.»

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Peep Hole (Smut Box Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178626) by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango)




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